


If That's What It Takes

by Mae_Crowe



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Advice, Anderson is a pervert, Comfort, F/M, Kidnapped Sally, Kidnapped Sherlock, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Mycroft Holmes can and will make you disappear if you hurt his brother, Off-screen Relationship(s), One Shot, POV Sally Donovan, Paternal Lestrade, Rescue, Sally needs to stop letting him use her, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, but posted for whoever likes it, mentions of torture, seriously don't touch Sherlock, talking through differences, they'll never find you again, written for myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:06:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3864598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mae_Crowe/pseuds/Mae_Crowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sally agrees to help locate a kidnapped Sherlock Holmes, the last thing she expects is to be taken in herself. Tied up and locked in a dark basement with no one for company but the freak, Sally begins to realize there's more to Sherlock than what first meets the eye. And he might already be that "good man" Greg wants him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If That's What It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> I really shouldn't have to put this at the start of every piece, but let's go through my usual spiel. Written for myself, unbetaed, posted for whoever might derive enjoyment from it. Don't really care to improve upon this little stress-reliever I've written, but have posted it for any fans who just want some new material. Enjoy! c:

Sally awoke to relative darkness, the only light being a dying yellow lantern in the far corner, casting shadows upon the nearby wall. A musty smell assaulted her nostrils, and she forced herself not to gag. Her hands were tied behind her back, but her legs were free, and there was no gag. She was the victim of a headache, but she still forced herself to organize her thoughts and figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered was-

“Oh, God, no,” she called loudly with realization.

The freak had gone off without backup again, resulting in a frantic John and a frantic Greg and consequently a frantic Yard. She agreed to go on to help in case something went awry, and thus found herself entering an old barn decked out with weaponry what must have been hours ago. She got separated from the others when they apparently moved on to finish investigating the large property. Oh, God; the criminals must have-

“Would you keep your evaluation of the situation quiet over there? Yes, you’ve been kidnapped; it’s not a big deal - it happens to me all the time. Besides, they won’t do anything to you anyway, as this isn’t about you; you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, as they say.”

Sally froze for a moment at the familiar, exasperated baritone. “Sherlock?” she blanched, applauding herself silently for managing to use his name in such a pressing situation. “Is that you? Have you been here this whole time?” She strained her eyes in the dark looking for the source.

“Obvious,” Sherlock quipped, and he moved into the weak lighting. Sally’s heart pounded at the sight before her.

The detective was by no means in good shape. His hair was askew, damp with sweat, and blood coated his face, presumably from his obviously broken nose. He favored his right arm noticeably, and there was a certain way about his movement that suggested fractured ribs. And yet his voice was as calm as calm could be.

“How can you be taking this so well?” she gaped. “You’re clearly in pain, and yet you’re over here saying kidnapping isn’t a big deal. How can you-”

“I told you, they won’t touch you,” Sherlock interrupted. “And even if they try to, I’m sure I could distract them enough. We’ll only be here a few days, tops; John and Lestrade will have gone to Mycroft by then.”

“They already have,” Sally informed him quietly, thoughts trained primarily on what appeared to be a wordless promise to protect her. But that couldn’t be! Sociopath, right? Or that’s what he claimed, at least. “But you shouldn’t be so calm about all this.”

“And you shouldn’t be so concerned,” Sherlock countered. “I told you: I’ve done this before. Is it painful? Yes. Is it annoying? Yes. Is it boring? Dreadfully. But is it something to worry about? Absolutely not. We’ll be out of here soon enough, especially if what you claim is true. Then we’ll have these men behind bars, you back to work, and me back to John.” Sally was surprised to hear an affectionate note in his voice. “And he’ll yell and me and scold me and stitch up my wounds and force me to eat, all while pretending to be angry at me.” He sighed wistfully. “That’s the best part about getting kidnapped, you know. John never looks away from me.”

Sally knew it probably wasn’t the right time, but she couldn’t keep the question from her lips. “Are you sure you two aren’t shagging?”

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Their captivity was pretty uneventful, save Sherlock’s occasional words whenever she began getting worked up again, for quite some hours. But finally, a man came down a set of rickety stairs, visage cast in darkness. Sally resisted the slight urge to whimper, remembering what Sherlock said about this not being about her. But when the man approached her corner and not Sherlock’s - they seemed to have come to a wordless agreement to give each other their space - her heart almost stopped.

“Eh, look at this lovely little wench. What’s a pretty little thing like you doing with the coppers? You could do so much more.” Sally swallowed as she felt a calloused finger run under her chin. “What do you say? It’s awful down here, isn’t it? Why don’t we go upstairs and-”

“Leave her alone,” Sherlock called unexpectedly. The man drew away, and Sally let out a relieved breath. But her relief did not last as she realized the man was trekking over toward Sherlock all on her account.

“I wasn’t talking to you, now was I, Pretty Boy?” the man said in a soft voice. Sherlock’s silence gave Sally confirmation the kidnapper had used this taunt before. Her gut clenched at the tone, though. This wasn’t going to end well. 

“Sherlock,” she said quietly, trying to tell him it was okay, but he cut her off before she could get any further.

“Shut up, Donovan,” he barked. Sally winced at the tone, but acquiesced, if only to get a better feel for the situation.

“Ooh, defensive, are we?” the kidnapper tittered gleefully. “I’m just going to take your friend upstairs for a bit, no harm there, is there?” A pause. “Unless you’d rather take her place. Pretty boys are just as good as little wenches, don’t you think?”

Sally’s eyes widened at the implications. Oh, God, no. Sherlock wasn’t going to let him-

“Fine,” Sherlock said firmly, though Sally was sure she could hear a slight waver in his voice. “If that’s what it takes.”

“Sherlock, don’t!” she called out in panic.

Sherlock didn’t respond, instead allowing himself to be led from the room by a cackling kidnapper.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Sherlock did not come back for what felt like days, but what in reality was probably only a few hours. Sally felt weariness taking hold, but the sick feeling in her stomach and the knowledge of what Sherlock was going through upstairs on her account was all too much to bear. She had never seen the freak sacrifice anything for anyone before, except maybe John. But that was usually a wound here and there, and if her suspicions were correct, this was far worse for him. Far, far worse. In fact, Sally noted with horror, hadn’t there been comments made in her presence before, suggesting Sherlock had never…? Oh, God, this was getting worse by the minute.

All of a sudden, the door opened, and a large bundle was tumbling down the stairs. The kidnapper didn’t come down or say a word as he closed the door and put the lock in place. All Sally could see in the fading light was a hunched form on the floor, making no attempt to get up. Oh, God, was he dead? Had she caused the death of Sherlock Holmes?

Sally scooted over to where Sherlock lay, hands tied behind his back. She pressed her ear to his back, hoping to hear… Ah, yes. He was breathing. He was just choosing not to move, not to say anything. She should probably leave him alone right now, but the concern she felt was too overwhelming. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock let out a small, uncharacteristic whimper that caused her heart to clench. It seemed to be enough confirmation to her suspicions, and her heart went out.

“Oh, God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry! You should’ve let me… I mean, you shouldn’t have let him… What I mean to say is I would’ve-”

“Leave it,” the detective interrupted weakly, sounding defeated. “Better me than you.”

Sally swallowed a lump in her throat. “But the way I treat you… I don’t deserve-”

“It’s not your fault Anderson abuses your emotions, though you really shouldn’t let him.” Sherlock paused briefly, sounding tired. “Although I understand what it’s like just to want someone to love you.” A stifled sob erupted from the back of his throat. “And now he’ll definitely never love me.”

Sally didn’t need to ask who Sherlock was talking about; it was so painfully obvious what he was feeling and thinking right now that she almost wanted to die from the guilt it gave her. “Sherlock,” she said quietly. “I’m sure John wouldn’t turn you down just for this. You did it to save someone else, remember? And it’s not your fault, whatever he made you do up there. It’s a terrible thing, but it won’t change how John feels toward you.” She paused for a moment. “Have you ever told John how you feel, Sherlock?”

“No,” Sherlock responded tiredly. “I don’t see the point. Any fool can see he wouldn’t have a freak like me, especially not now that I-”

“Wait,” Sally interrupted, mind fixing in on one word. “Did you just call yourself a freak?”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? I’m not normal. I see things other people don’t, I can remember and delete information as I please, and yet I don’t understand emotion.” He paused momentarily. “It’s not that I don’t feel it, you understand; I’m simply ill-equipped to do anything with them. Sociopath, see?”

“You’re not a sociopath, Sherlock, and you’re definitely not a freak. I’m sorry I’ve made you think that in the past; I guess I was just upset that I worked so hard to get where I am today, and you just jump in out of nowhere and make it all for naught. But I guess genius isn’t without its downfalls, is it?”

“Indeed.”

“Thank you for what you did for me. I will never be able to repay you.” Sally moved to lie down so she was lying back-to-back with Sherlock, sensing he could use some moral support after his endeavour. “But promise me one thing, Sherlock, for your own good.”

“And what’s that?”

“That you’ll tell John how you feel as soon as we get out of here, of course. And don’t give me any bullshit about him not wanting you after this; his acceptance might be all you need to help you heal. Trust me on this.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment. “If I tell John the truth, will you stop letting Anderson use you?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

They are awoken by the sound of familiar voices and relieved exclamations, torches lighting up the room. Greg hurries over to help untie her bonds, but when he begins to check her out, she shakes her head and nods over toward the tall man huddled in a tight ball under John Watson’s terrified gaze. “Sherlock,” she says quietly. “He’s the one who needs help right now, not me.”

Greg looked at her dubiously. “They didn’t-”

“They didn’t so much as touch me, thanks to Sherlock, but I think they’ve been torturing him quite regularly. And…” she hesitates for a moment, looking away in shame that she did nothing to prevent it. “At least one of them raped him when he jumped to my defense.”

Greg’s eyes widened. “They didn’t,” he said in a low voice. Sally just nodded with a pained look, causing Greg’s face to light up with fury. “I’ll kill them!” he snarled. “I’ll kill every single one of those perverse bastards! And may they all rot in the darkest depths of hell!”

Sally couldn’t help but smile at Greg’s outraged outburst. “My thoughts exactly.”

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦

Two months later and the three kidnappers had inexplicably disappeared. Or so, at least, read the official account of things; Greg had hinted Sherlock’s brother was behind it, if only to put her mind to rest that they wouldn’t strike again. And it was a wonderful relief, knowing Sherlock was safe from the foul beasts.

She was also quite happy to have made true to her promise to Sherlock, breaking things off with Anderson completely. And it worked out fairly well for her, actually; a certain Dimmock was starting to show some not-so-subtle interest. Interest in a relationship, that is - not the mess she shared with Philip. She had been a lot happier all around once Anderson was out of the picture.

And as for Sherlock… Sally smiled as he approached the crime scene, fingers entwined with those of a certain Dr. Watson. After he was released from the hospital, and Sally gave a pointed reminder, it hadn’t taken him long to confess to John. His demeanor changed rapidly after that, though only in the subtlest ways that those who knew him best would notice. He was a little more personable now and not nearly as averse to touch even after his ordeal. Sally was relieved at his quick recovery, even if she was certain he had not yet recovered fully.

But, for now, this would do. And he had John to help him along the way, and Sally herself was more than willing to lend a helping hand. As she lifted the police tape to let the pair in, she smirked, a teasing twinkle in her eye.  
“Hello, Freak.”


End file.
